


Rattle the bars if you like, but I chose to enter this cage

by Ammocharis



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Antagonistic Relationship, Avvar, Avvar Culture and Customs, Avvar Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Dreamers (Dragon Age), Gen, Major canon divergence, POV Solas (Dragon Age), hold beast
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:42:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28356408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ammocharis/pseuds/Ammocharis
Summary: When Solas enters the prison cell underneath Haven's Chantry, he's faced with an unusual sight. There lies an unconscious woman whose arm is marked with a Fade-green brand and blue tattoos. At her side waits a falcon, chained and blindfolded. At first, his eyes focus solely on the Anchor, the reason for which he chose to step inside this cage. However, Solas soon realizes that the mark imprinted in the woman's hand is not the only remarkable thing about her.
Relationships: Female Inquisitor & Solas (Dragon Age)
Kudos: 4





	Rattle the bars if you like, but I chose to enter this cage

The Seeker pushed the door open, producing a loud screech as the hinges rotated, the sound so offensive to the ears. An equally atrocious smell entered his nostrils. It was a mix of blood, sweat and grime, a typical occurrence during times of great strife.

“Inside,” the Nevarran said, motioning Solas to step forth. He answered the not so courteous invitation without complaint. After all, he, a lowly elven mage from a small village in the north, had offered his services to the Inquisition, and was fortunate to be received. Obviously, he was an apostate in hiding, though both Hands of the late Divine had no choice but to accept his help since no else seemed to be able to answer their questions. When the world awakened on the brink of collapse, even an unknown elven mage could be welcome, if not with open arms then with a blind eye turned to his status.

The prison cell contained an unusual sight. A young woman was lying on a bedroll, surrounded by four armed guards despite being in a state of unconsciousness. She appeared quite tall, though it proved difficult to assess her physique due to distance and poor lighting, as well as the fact that she was dressed in several layers of winter clothing in disheveled condition. Interestingly, the woman was not the only prisoner, for a bird of prey, a falcon if he was not mistaken, sat still on a metal perch, blindfolded and chained.

Yet strangest of all, the woman’s left palm was emitting Fade-green glow. He expected to see it, having heard the frightened shouts spreading through the makeshift camp and beyond Haven like a plague, still, he could not accept it. The situation in which he found himself should never have arisen. His eyes, now adapted to the shadows, focused on the Anchor. The intensity of the light was fluctuating in an erratic manner, just as the woman’s breath. A series of shallow gasps, each punctuated by a flash of light, was followed by a prolonged moment of silence.

Cassandra Pentaghast approached the bedside, beckoning Solas to follow her. “Did she wake up at all?” she asked the nearest standing soldier.

“No, Seeker,” the guard replied. “She only thrashes around from time to time, we don’t know why.”

“Move aside,” the Nevarran commanded, and the guards immediately dispersed as if they were all wishing for it since the moment they had been placed on this post. 

It was hardly a surprise to see that they believed the unconscious woman to be the one who tore the sky open, unleashing all demons in existence. They must’ve feared she could kill them even in her sleep.

“She emerged from the rift,” the Seeker needlessly explained to Solas. That was the sole reason he entered this cage. He wouldn’t be here otherwise. “If you really know as much about the Veil as you claim, then tell me what in the Maker’s name is going on.”

Solas inclined his head politely and sat down on his heels to examine the woman.

Her breath returned a while ago though it remained laborious. With each inhale, the wings of her nose would flare, the muscles on the sides of her neck would tense, and her ribcage would quiver, demonstrating clear signs of abnormal respiration, which in turn was an evidence of the toll the Anchor had taken on her body.

At some point, her left hand formed into a fist, yet the Fade-green light seeped through the crevices, refusing to be smothered.

Solas placed his fingers around her wrist and slowly raised her arm up to his eyes. He could hear the others exhale in unison, as if they waited for the magic embedded in the woman’s hand to explode into his face. When nothing dreadful happened, they started whispering in confusion, though Cassandra silenced them with a single grunt. Solas continued the investigation, injecting a bit of healing energy into the woman’s limb to subdue the sensations that were troubling her even while she slumbered. It seemed to have worked as her fist unclenched, finger by finger. He began studying the features of her hand, ignoring the dust and soot covering her skin. The physical imperfections such as old healed scars did not interest him, nevertheless, he noted that a pale line near the heel of her hand displayed qualities of tissue repaired by magic, enough to fully restore functionality but still leave a lesson inscribed in the flesh.

What did concern him was the mark carved out in the center of her palm. It kept glowing with green light as if the hollow of her hand was holding veilfire. In any other scenario, he would admire the vibrant colour, reminiscing about the memories he had explored in the deepest parts of the Fade. At this moment, it only reminded him about the inadequacy of the situation. The human woman lying in front of him, whoever she was, should never have come into contact with the Orb, let alone obtain a single shard of its power.

Solas leaned closer to the woman’s hand and tried to separate the Anchor from her. It should peel away easily, its nature so different from the mortal being who somehow received the brand. He extended a tendril of magic in an attempt to pry the mark free. If he succeeded, the human would most likely die. It was a miracle she lived through the ritual to begin with. At least she would die in her sleep, a fate much easier than bearing a piece of powerful magic in her body, which she would eventually succumb to anyway. The Anchor was never meant for anyone but him, much less for a human.

The falcon started beating its wings vigorously. It let out an ear-piercing screech and tried to take off the cap on its head which was blocking its vision, but the blindfold was well attached. The animal refused to quiet down even when the guard rattled its chain.

To Solas’ dismay, his spell had no effect, not in the slightest. He examined the Anchor for other possible points of weakness but he found none. The connection between the Anchor and the woman appeared permanent, at least for now. A sliver of hope remained that with the Orb, he might be able to manipulate the energy in the mark and remove it, intact or in fragments. Unfortunately, he would first have to reclaim the focus device from Corypheus.

The bird eventually calmed down and the only sound in the prison cell was once again the labored breathing of the woman. Droplets of sweat were trickling down her face and neck, and her complexion became even more pale than it already was.

If the Anchor was unwilling to cooperate and return to its rightful owner, he had to choose a different approach. Perhaps it could be possible to rearrange the structure of the mark and thus reduce its burden on the mortal. She proved resilient enough to survive the process of acquiring the Anchor, walk physically through the Fade and emerge from the other side in one piece. Maybe she would be able to carry the weight for a little longer. He began preparing to cast the spell.

Without warning, the woman’s back twisted into an arch and she let out a cry of pain. At the same time, the Anchor flared, filling the entire chamber with jade green light. The sudden brightness aggravated Solas’ eyes as his sight had adjusted to the poorly lit environment. He shut his eyelids tight but kept watch over the Anchor with his magic.

“What’s going on?!” the Seeker yelled, leaping closer to the bedside. “What did you do?!”

The mark dimmed so he could open his eyes again. He quickly assessed the situation. The woman was still thrashing around, whimpering in pain, and the falcon lashed out as well, beating its wings in agitatiation, though the worst appeared to have passed.

“I did not cause it, Seeker,” Solas assured her. He hadn’t yet altered a single fragment of the mark. The planning process ought to be meticulous. The reason lied elsewhere and he already knew what it was. “She had reacted like that previously, had she not?” he asked the guards. They all nodded in response. “You should take a look outside. Most likely, it was the Breach that provoked an outburst.”

The Seeker waved at one of the soldiers. “Go!” The man rushed to the surface, slamming the door on his way out. Then, she leaned over the unconscious woman, glaring at the rift-like brand in her palm. “So you’re saying that…”

“The mark in her hand is connected to the Breach somehow, yes,” he supplied. “The Breach expands in irregular, rapid bursts, we all have witnessed it. I suspect this is the cause of her condition. The spasms cause too much toll on her body.”

“Can you stop it and wake her up?” Pentaghast inquired. “We need to know what happened.”

“It might be possible, but first I need to examine her entire arm,” he informed the Seeker.

The woman pointed at a guard. “Help him,” she ordered, and took a step back.

“Yes, Seeker.” The man dressed in templar garb approached the prisoner’s bed and awaited further instructions.

“Could you take off her jacket?” Solas requested. He had to focus on stabilizing the Anchor.

The guard complied, though not without stalling. He peeled the woman out of the thick, fur-lined garment, tossing her limbs around with little care for gentleness. In each of his moves, he tried to minimize contact, as if the woman was carrying some sort of a disease. The Anchor served as a possible explanation, though Solas suspected it wasn’t the only reason for the templar’s aversion.

With the jacket gone, he was able to roll up the sleeve of the inner garment, getting it past the woman’s wrist and then the elbow. At the first glance, the rest of her arm seemed unaffected by the Anchor.  _ Yet.  _ He studied the channels of magic inside her body, his fingertips hovering just a hair-width above the tattoo lines marking the outer side of her forearm. They formed a web-like design, a weave of sorts. The dark blue ink appeared relatively fresh, completely healed over but not beginning to fade yet.

“Filthy barbarian,” the templar muttered under his breath.

“Barbarian?” Solas repeated. If she were to live and bear the Anchor, it might be useful to learn more about her. From the way magic circled around her body, he was able to infer that she was a trained mage, however, the tutoring she received did not come from the Circle, and certainly not from the Dalish.

The guard winced in disgust. “A heathen from the mountains,” he explained.

Solas nodded in response and kept working on smoothing the Anchor’s edges. He remembered a dream he saw once in a deep part of the Fade. An ancient memory of a human tribe from millenia ago, crossing a mountain range to escape a creature they called the shadow goddess. He once encountered the spirit from which they had fled. Her domain was located along the southern tundra and she roamed it in loneliness. He had witnessed other memories of the human tribes as well, for many spirits were interested in preserving them, especially here in Haven. Unfortunately, the Breach had caused a great loss in the Fade and most of those echoes would now be gone.

The guard who had been sent outside returned with news. “The Breach flared up at the same time, Seeker.”

“So you were correct,” she replied, looking at Solas, though her eyes were swiftly drawn to the Fade-green mark. “Do you know what this thing can do?”

“It’s too soon to tell with certainty,” he replied. The Orb was never supposed to embed its mark in a human. It might not work properly anymore, even though most of the structure remained intact through some twist of fate. “I presume it functions like… an anchor,” he revealed finally. Using similar terms in the Common language as he had once devised in elvhen would reduce the chances of slip up. “The way the magic inside her hand is shaped, it might affect the Veil.”

“Do you think it could help us close the Breach?”

“I hope so. However, she will die if this continues. Each time the Breach expands, an outburst of energy reaches the Anchor in her hand, and it takes a toll on her body. I’m doing everything I can to alter the structure of the mark so that the effect is reduced, but I need more time,” he informed the Seeker.

“You need to hurry,” the Nevarran snapped at him. “We don’t have time.”

“It’s not possible, Seeker, these are complicated spells and they require thorough preparation, I’m sure you are aware of that,” he countered. The muscles in Cassandra’s jaw tensed but she didn’t say anything. “Perhaps it would help if she wasn’t dreaming. Right now, she’s connected to the Fade. I possess herbs that will temporarily cut her access to the other side of the Veil.” He unearthed a pouch from the bag on his belt.

“How do I know you aren’t trying to poison her?” the Seeker grabbed the pouch, snatching it from his hand. “To cover tracks, yours or the person’s who hired you.”

Ah, a suspicion of duplicity. It was to be expected, of course. He imagined the accusations would come flying much sooner.

“If you fear that, Seeker, you should seek out another expert. However, as you pointed out, we don’t have time. She might die when the next surge comes, and then the chance to explain the connection between the mark in her hand and the Breach is gone, forever.”

“There’s the apothecary, Adan,” one of the guards suggested. “He should know what those herbs are. I can get him.”

“Then go,” the Seeker barked. “Where’s Leliana?” She turned to the soldier who had been outside earlier.

“The scouts said she’s still out in the field,” the man replied.

“Continue.” The Seeker nodded at Solas. “We have to know what happened, even if she dies.”

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to uncover that secret.”

“Just do what you can.”

Solas took the prisoner’s hand again, placing it in between his. Her skin was surprisingly warm, seeing as the conditions in the underground cell were less than comfortable. Perhaps it was another one of the Anchor’s effects.

He proceeded to work on the spell’s formula, though he was accompanied by a feeling that something was amiss. Earlier when he had been studying the pathways of magic in the woman’s body, he noticed an unusual pattern. However, he didn’t investigate it further, focusing back on the Anchor instead. It could be just some flux of her training, an aberration which her teacher’s did not correct, or even instilled there on purpose, following their tribal ways. For some reason, he felt compelled to examine the anomaly once more. A strange sensation passed through him, like an echo of the distant past. He looked at the bird sitting in the corner of the prison cell. Despite the blindfold, its head was turned in his direction.

_ Could it be...? _

**Author's Note:**

> This is a companion piece to my main fic, [Watch the Skies ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19886404/chapters/47100379), which is a story of how my Avvar Dreamer, Vatna, received the Anchor and used it to save the Lady of the Skies. The fic here will feature Solas' version of a few key events that happened after he offered his help to the Inquisition.


End file.
